


Living Ghosts

by KesSkirata



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Hurt Javier Peña, Javier Peña POV, Javier Peña hurts so prettily, M/M, PTSD, Stavier - Freeform, Trauma, gunshot wound, protective Javier Peña
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29683227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KesSkirata/pseuds/KesSkirata
Summary: Javier Peña struggles with the mortality rate of young federal agents in Columbia after Carrillo’s death.
Relationships: Javier Peña & Reader, Javier Peña & You, Javier Peña/Original Female Character(s), Steve Murphy & Javier Peña, Steve Murphy/Javier Peña
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Living Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Some Javier/Steve if you squint. So much angst and doubt. Canon typical violence. I came up with this idea late one night and stayed up until 2 am writing

Javier Peña is watching a ghost. A ghost that is walking, breathing, laughing, glowing with anticipation. The Carlos Holguin school bustles with preparations for a raid on a sicario safe house. She is at the center of the hurricane, still in its eye as it blows around her.

None of the Search Bloc know she is a ghost. They eye her with respect, still newly won after proving her cool head in a firefight in a Medellín comuna. They smile when she stands over them, gently correcting her Spanish as she tries to get to know them.

Steve Murphy is touching her, fixing a buckle on her hip holster as she laughs at his jokes. He doesn’t know he is preparing her body for death. Bile rises in Javier’s throat and he has to turn away. Christ, he needs a drink. But he will need every edge he can get in the coming hours. Columbia isn’t kind to American DEA agents. Especially not rookies.

Javier turns when she says his name, unwillingly making eye contact across the room. She’s laughing, grinning at him with a flash of white teeth and a sparkle in her eyes. She and Steve are nearly giddy, their informant had turned up a clue on Blackie and Límon’s whereabouts. Centra Spike had confirmed it. She was going to get her first win in Columbia. Javi knows better.

He doesn’t see the sparkle, just the empty eyes and the blood. 

Steve is calling to him now, too, waving him over. He wants to see if Javi can tighten her Kevlar vest better than he can. He’s frustrated, his blond hair already limp with sweat as he is swearing at the Velcro. 

“It’s too big, Peña,” he drawls, “fucking suppliers didn’t send any smalls. I can’t get it tight enough.”

 _So this is how it happens, then_ , thinks Javi, _dead because the government didn’t mark the proper forms. No small Kevlar vests at Carlos Holguin today. What a stupid way to die._

Javier can’t help but see every flaw in the way the too-big vest hugs her body, every crack where a sicario’s bullet could slide in and end her life. It’s a foregone conclusion. But he tries anyway. He knows he will blame himself regardless.

She lets out a small grunt as he jerks it tight, her smile faltering. On another day, that sound would’ve gone straight to Javier’s groin. But today, all he can think is that it sounds like the noise a body makes when a bullet hits home. 

He wipes his palms down the front of his jeans, nodding at her thanks and trying not to imagine her blood on his legs. Fuck, he has to get out of here. He mumbles something about needing a smoke to Steve as he stumbles out the door.

Javier makes it outside, to the shade where it’s marginally cooler. He leans against the brick wall and lights his cigarette with a shaking hand. The nicotine hits, and he feels calmer already. Javier closes his eyes. Fuck, he’s so tired of watching rookies die.

Her voice makes him jump, and then she’s laughing again and Javier just wants to scream at her. How does she not get it? She's going to die today. She shouldn’t be laughing and teasing Murphy and Trujillo like nothing bad was happening. 

“Murphy was right,” she says teasingly, “you are easy to sneak up on when you’re grumpy!” Her smile is dazzling, like she’s discovered some grand secret. It makes Javier’s heart ache. 

“You gonna share one with the lady?” She grins at him and nods towards his cigarette. Javier glowers, but puts his cigarette back in his mouth to thumb one out for her. She puts it between her lips and invites him to light it with a knowing lift of her eyebrow. Javier wants to laugh hysterically. _A final cigarette before the firing squad_. She takes a long drag and her eyes close in relief. 

“The new Colonel is riding Murphy’s ass in there, and Murphy’s pretending to know even less Spanish than usual,” she says with a frown, a thin stream of smoke coming from between her pursed lips. 

“I told them I’d come find you, see if you were all right.” A bemused smile touched her face. She glances at Javier from the side of her eyes, a clear invitation for him to join her banter.

Javier just stares at her through the smoke starting to swirl around them. _Why the fuck would he need checking up on. He’s just fine. He’s not the one that’s going to die today_. She shakes her head and blows out another cloud of smoke. The warm Columbian sunshine breaks through the clouds. It filters through the cigarette smoke, giving her an ethereal glow. A halo around her blonde hair, just the same shade as Murphy’s. They could be siblings, almost. 

Steve treated her like a kid sister, pulling her immediately into his family’s warm orbit. Javier has seen too many rookies come and die to let her in so easily. She’s Midwestern, with an accent just as annoying as it is different from Steve’s Southern drawl. She’d been something of a big deal in her town, catching drug smugglers in a bust big enough for her superiors to approve her request for a transfer to Columbia. 

Javier hates them. He hates the DEA for sending her here, so innocent and young and eager to prove herself. Nothing good comes from that kind of youthful exuberance and naivety. And he will have to pick up the pieces when she’s gone. Fix Murphy’s shattered heart, again. 

They’ve already lost Connie and Carrillo. Another loss would break Murphy. Javier can’t have that. He doesn’t want to deal with the stupid hillbilly gringo’s heartbreak. He has a permanent Steve shaped depression in his couch from the weeks following Connie and Olivia’s departure. Steve’s not a responsible partner when he’s sad. Might get himself killed. Then Javi would have to deal with all the paperwork alone. The gravity of that word, _alone,_ tosses him out of his train of thoughts and back to his junior partner in front of him. 

She hasn’t stopped talking, chattering merrily about some stupid party she went to a few weekends ago, with some of the other young embassy employees. Javier tries to pay attention, to nod and smile at the right places. She deserves a moment of camaraderie in the sunshine, set against the backdrop of men loading military rifles in trucks. She should get to be happy before she dies.

He wonders briefly if he should be asking her questions, providing her absolution as death approaches. But he’s not a fucking priest, so he ends up asking if she has any family at home, any plans to go and see them. He’ll probably have to call them tomorrow. Her brow furrows.

“Peña,” she says firmly,” you don’t have to worry about me. I’m all in. I have one goal, just like you, get Escobar.” Her eyes are shining with adoration. Suddenly, Javier can’t breathe. _Oh no. She_ **_admires_ ** _him. She wants to be like him. That’s the worst possible thing she could want._

Javier is saved when Steve comes bouncing down the steps and wraps his arm around her shoulders, trying to steal her cigarette.

“Get your own fucking cigarette, Murphy,” Javier growls before he can think. Her eyebrows raise in surprise and she winks at him conspiratorially, shoving Steve away. Murphy is laughing. Javier feels like he’s drowning. He can’t save her. She’s too much like him. 

***

Blackie’s sicarios have them pinned down in front of the house. Javier is crouching behind a police car, she’s kneeling behind a crumbling wall. They’re surrounded by Search Bloc. Steve is leading a team around back, to stop the narcos from escaping and kick in the proverbial back door. The blonde fucking fool is probably going to get himself killed running point. He’s too tall to go in front. 

A bullet shatters the car mirror above Javier’s head and he ducks back instinctively. He hears a hiss from her position and whips his head around to see if she’s dead yet. Javier doesn’t see her at first, for a long terrifying moment. Then he hears her rifle. She’s laying on her belly in the dirty alleyway, aiming through the scope like a fucking sniper. She pulls the trigger lightly and shoots a gunman though the window. It’s the one who almost sent a bullet through his head a moment ago. Her lips twitch. 

Then he hears Steve roaring out commands over the radio and the heavy thud of his boots kicking down a door. Trujillo yells something and Search Bloc moves. Javi moves with them.

She’s a heartbeat behind, stopping to swing her rifle onto her shoulder and take out her revolver. Javier slows his steps to let her catch up.

“Stay behind me, compañera,” he says gruffly, and she rolls her eyes. 

“Sí, pendejo.” She’s still got that damned smile on her face.

The first two Search Bloc men in the door go down, but the others push the sicarios back and Javier jumps through the door behind Trujillo, swinging his revolver as he clears the room.

“Clear,” he yells as she steps through the door behind him. Her trigger discipline is exquisite, revolver firmly pointed at her feet. The long lines of her arms are tight with tension. She’s rolled up her sleeves. Javi can see the sheen of sweat on her arms, the light in the house making it glisten.

There’s a burst of fire from the back of the house, and suddenly men are screaming obscenities in Spanish, Murphy roaring at them to _get back, get under cover_ , in English. She’s moving before Javi can stop her, her blue eyes flinty and her blonde ponytail whipping as she bursts through the next door, revolver barking in her hands, Javi and Trujillo behind her. She takes down two men with their backs to her, then ducks as they return fire, rolling across the dirty floor. Her DEA jacket is full of glass when she stands. Javi shoots the other two and they meet in the middle.

“Murphy, talk to me, where the fuck are you?” she's yelling into the radio. She growls in disgust, “It’s fucking broken, Peña! Call him!” Javier is staring at her. There’s broken glass in her hair and blood on her face. But it’s not her blood. She’s not dead yet. She makes another noise, deep in her throat and stomps over to him, grabbing his radio.

“Murphy, fuckin answer.” Her voice is tight, but she’s keeping her fear for Steve tamped down. Javier feels a thrill of respect. She’s good at her job. She should be chasing junkies in Miami, not dying here in Medellín. 

“Pinned down… back yard… Reinforcements… Blackie...” It’s crackly but it's Steve. He lets out a relieved breath at the same time as she does, eyes meeting for a moment. She checks her revolver, reloading it, tips her head towards the door. Trujillo kicks it open and Javier leaps through already shooting. He trusts her and Trujillo to have his back as he advances, even if it's going to get them killed.

The backyard is a bloodbath, sicarios and Search Bloc alike covering the ground, dead and bleeding out. Gunfire breaks out behind him and he whirls, but she’s handled it. Two sicarios lay shot to death at her feet. Her eyes are wild.

Steve jumps out from behind a garden wall, blood covering his face and arms. 

“Not mine,” he says quickly, as the rest of his Search Bloc team file out behind him. “Blackie ran out when they got us pinned down. The fuckers had backup close by.” He’s pissed, rightfully so, as he surveys the fallen. Javier backs up slowly, settling himself against a wall, catching his breath. They're all still alive. He hadn’t expected that. She turns to look at him, a frown on her face, so he gathers himself and moves back towards where she and Steve are talking to Colonel Martinez.

The door in the building behind him swings open, and her eyes go wide. He has his gun in his hand and he’s turning before he can think, but he knows it's too late. Shots ring out in the night, followed by a violent barrage of military issue gunfire. Something hits his back hard and he falls forward, knocking the air from his chest. He blinks hard in confusion.

Blonde hair falls across his face, a woman’s groan echoing above him. Slow terror rolls through Javier. _She knocked him down, out of harm's way. She’d taken a bullet meant for him. She thought his life was worth sacrificing hers. This is not how she’s supposed to die._ Something stings his eyes and he pushes himself up, feeling her body slide off of his with another deep groan. He’s frantic as he turns her over, looking for blood. Her face is twisted with pain but there’s no emptiness. No shock coating her features or cold sweats rolling over her skin.

“Shit,” she says, voice pained. “That’s gonna leave a huge fucking bruise.” Murphy is there, taking her in his arms.

“Fuckin hell, you probably have a broken rib or three,” he says, digging the bullet out of her vest with practiced fingers. “Medical is already enroute.” 

Javier just sits there, holding her hand loosely, stunned. She’s not dead. The vest protected her. She protected him and she's not dead. She’ll survive bruises and broken ribs. Suddenly, it's like he’s seeing her for the first time. She’s alive, not a ghost. Maybe Columbia won’t kill her. 

Javier doesn’t realize he’s falling until he’s on his side, blinking hazily up at her. She’s worried. He doesn’t understand why. She’s going to live.

“Shit Murphy, Javi’s hit!” Her voice is frantic now and Javi blinks. That’s not very professional. Still, she’s got a long way to go in her career. She’ll learn. Her hands are pressing into his thigh. It feels… nice. It doesn’t feel like a ghost is touching him anymore.

Her words and Steve’s are a blur, pressing into his brain. He’s just so goddamn tired. Maybe he can just rest… for a minute…

She slaps him. Javi blinks. He wasn’t even hitting on her. She looks too much like Steve, too pretty like Steve. He wouldn’t fuckin touch her. Not unless she asked him nicely. She’s crying now, holding pressure. It fucking hurts. Javier tries to push her hand away from his leg. God she’s fucking strong though.

The bright lights of the ambulance are shining around him. There’s warm blankets. Rapid Spanish. A mask over his face. Her hand is still in his when the darkness claims him. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
